Just a song for the hippies in cubicles.

Hippies in cubicles

No crack, no marry me Juana
No slack, no smoked salmon
All you got is forms to fill
All you got is time to kill
Once Hippie, now has no hope
only roasted beans pass as dope.
 
The Hippie was a rock star
He wore Hawaiian pants
carried a bass guitar
He sang classic rants
lying bare on beaches
living a drugged dream
He saw bluish mermaids
whipped in pinkish cream.
 
But there was this glitch
His clothes needed a stitch
and stitch needed some dough
If dough had to come
Merry may had to go
How bad it could be!
Thought the hippie
who never had to fill
one crappy excel sheet
for paying the bill.
 
So the hippie took a job
He had nothing to do
just try and be a snob
and shit in the cube
Soon Weeks went by
with no fucking clue
Instead of stitches
His mind was glued
Merry said bye bye
packed her bags and flew
 
He could not have guessed
the reasons right
until he had a dream
while whipping some cream
He had this situation
A crab better suited
his job description
He was just a hippie
with need for some dough
So he let down his hair
and banged his guitar
till someone took notice
and lent him his due fame
of being a rock star
 
So now hippie is again a rock star
with no fucking job to do
He is now into pots and smoking pink glue.

This reminds me of the song Codemonkey by Jonathan Coulton